


Forged in Hellfire

by Goldenrayofsunshine



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angry Toby Smith | Tubbo, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Author is a TommyInnit Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), BAMF Jack Manifold, BAMF Toby Smith | Tubbo, BAMF TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Banter, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Clay | Dream Has a God Complex (Video Blogging RPF), Communication, Enderwalking Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Enemies to Friends, Gen, It will be ok in the end, Jack Manifold-centric, Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Not RPF, Pandora's Vault Prison, Past Abuse, Platonically Married Ranboo and Toby Smith | Tubbo, Post-Canon, Ranboo & TommyInnit Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Redemption, Revived Tommyinnit, Sad Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sam Nook - Freeform, Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Snowchester on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Swearing, Temporary Character Death, TommyInnit Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has Abandonment Issues (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Toby Smith | Tubbo, Uneasy Allies, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Jack Manifold, at least to start, cw for horrible treatment of a kid who has trauma, the DSMP characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-21 21:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30028359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldenrayofsunshine/pseuds/Goldenrayofsunshine
Summary: The obsidian wall is smooth and shiny, sinister as ice over a bottomless lake. Jack raps at it with his knuckles, listening for hollow places. The first step to solving the impossible is always to try the obvious. But even after he combs every inch of the prison’s outer wall with his bare hands, he finds no flaw, no mar. He strikes harder, listens for the slightest subtle variations in the sound, and soon he is throwing real punches, his hands tearing against the unyielding rock as he beats at it with his fists. “Sam! Let me in, Sam. I want to visit the prisoner. Isn’t that your job?” Lazy bastard. “Hurry up, Sam! I’ve been waiting for hours.“He won’t come.”Tommy was once his friend. But the kid he liked is dead, and the person who stands before him now is a pure concentrated slag heap of chaos and incitement and pain, an insult to Tommy and Jack and the memory of what they used to have. “Fuck do you know about it?”***Two traumatized teenagers compete to see who can kill (evil) God first.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Jack Manifold, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jack Manifold & Sam | Awesamdude, Jack Manifold & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jack Manifold & TommyInnit, Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 134
Kudos: 290





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for PTSD, panic attacks, generally trauma not handled with compassion. I am sorry that Jack is like this.

The obsidian wall is smooth and shiny, sinister as ice over a bottomless lake. Jack raps at it with his knuckles, listening for hollow places. The first step to solving the impossible is always to try the obvious. But even after he combs every inch of the prison’s outer wall with his bare hands, he finds no flaw, no mar. He strikes harder, listens for the slightest subtle variations in the sound, and soon he is throwing real punches, his hands tearing against the unyielding rock as he beats at it with his fists. “Sam! Let me in, Sam. I want to visit the prisoner. Isn’t that your job?” Lazy bastard. “Hurry up, Sam! I’ve been waiting for hours.”

“He won’t come.”

Tommy was once his friend. But the kid he liked is dead, and the person who stands before him now is a pure concentrated slag heap of chaos and incitement and pain, an insult to Tommy and Jack and the memory of what they used to have. “Fuck do you know about it?”

“A lot, asshole. More than you. Like, I know you can’t punch your way through the prison walls, and that no matter how loudly you call for Sam, he won’t answer.”

“Not you, maybe. I’m different.”

“Try, then.”

But Jack won’t risk letting Tommy see him fail, so he snaps his mouth shut. “It’s getting late, anyway. I’m going home. To _Snowchester,_ where Ranboo and Tubbo live.”

“Okay.” And Tommy does look hurt, even if he’s pretending not to care. Jack sees right through him. “What are you doing here, anyways?”

Jack glowers at him.

“You already said you’re trying to--- _kill_ me.” His face pinches at the word. “Don’t bother keeping secrets.”

He’s getting a real attitude. Jack reaches for the hilt of his sword and Tommy almost throws himself backward in a sudden burst of panic. “No point killing you if you won’t stay dead.”

He coughs. “That’s out of my _hands,_ man. Dream just does whatever he, he, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t want to listen to you complain.”

Tommy gives a thin smile.

“I mean I don’t care about your fucking sob story.”

“Fine.” Tommy rubs his shoes along the ground. His laces are untied. “You’re going to kill Dream, aren’t you?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Just that as long as he’s around, we can’t get rid of you for good.”

“Suppose that’s true.” Tommy presses a hand to his own neck, like he’s searching for a pulse. “Funny, I’m also trying to kill Dream. And I need a sidekick.”

“Oh my God, fuck you, I will not be your fucking sidekick.” He runs a hand over his stubbly hair and his scalp crackles. “You are so self-centered, and, and, I hate you. You deserve to die, Tommy. Die by my hands.”

He smiles faintly. “You wouldn’t kill me. I mean, you’re Jack Manifold.”

“Exactly. I’ll slit your throat. I’ll stab you. I’ll blow you up--” Tommy’s whole body is visibly shaking. It’s pathetic, but at least he’s taking Jack seriously. “What did Dream do, again? Beat you to death with a potato?”

“With his _hands.”_ The boy gives a guttural shudder. His jaw twitches under his lip.

“Nah, these look like potato-shaped bruises.” He pokes the mark that runs over Tommy’s left eye-socket. 

“Don’t-don’t-don’t--” Tommy drives both of his fists into Jack’s stomach, a blow so forceful that he stumbles back. He regains his balance and punches Tommy’s shoulder, not even hard enough to do real damage, but the kid yelps like he’s being electrocuted. He skitters ten feet away and wraps his skinny arms around his sides. _“Don’t fucking touch me.”_

“Speak up. I can’t hear you, hiding all the way over there.”

_“I said,”_ he clears his throat, “I said don’t FUCKING TOUCH me, don’t ever, ever do that!”

Jack laughs. “What, are you scared of me?”

“N-no, I just think you’re being an asshole. For hitting me.”

“You hit first!” Jack yells, “I get to hit you back, that’s fair play. Don’t dish out what you can’t take.”

Tommy squeezes himself like a baby on a teddy bear. “I _can_ take it, go on then,” Jack raises a fist, “Wait no no no stop--”

Jack lowers his hand in disgust. “Alright then, coward. What is wrong with you?”

Tommy cringes, hunching over and blocking his face with his fingers. “You, you can’t, just don’t fucking touch me. If you knew what I’ve been through--”

“Oh, your sob story?” Jack scoffs, “Tell me then.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Tommy crosses his arms. “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“Fine, okay. But you can’t whine that _nobody understands you_ and then refuse to explain yourself.” He rolls his eyes in mock exasperation. “Don’t expect people to be nice to you if you’re just going to lash out and be an aggressive little bitch to anyone who shows you even a scrap of attention.”

Tommy flips him off. “I can do whatever I want, actually. Dickhead.”

“You _moaned_ about how lonely you were in exile and even though I didn’t _like_ you I fucking gave you a chance. I tried to come and see you, and help you, and what do you do?” Jack still aches from it sometimes, at night, feels his bone marrow burning away to ashy powder. “You _dropped me in the_ fucking _lava.”_

Tommy laughs. “Do you really still care about that?”

This callous motherfucker. Jack despises him. He itches to kill Tommy right here and now, but knows it would be pointless with the Revive Book still in the picture. “Of course I care! I lost everything!”

“You lost everything.” Tommy rubs a chuckle away from his lip. “Do you even _know_ what happened to _me?”_

“Yeah, you became a terrible person.” The feeling of utter betrayal, when Tommy, Jack’s _friend_ Tommy, who was annoying and uncouth and still had some good left in him, had turned around and caused him so much loss and pain. 

Tommy makes two fists. “Not everything’s about you, Jack.”

“Yeah, because you take over! Not even my own life gets to be about me!” He’s built homes, strove for peace and success, and then Tommy gets involved with his tornado of enemies and violence and downs the metaphorical power lines. No matter what Jack does, this kid ruins it. He won’t be able to make progress until Tommy is dead. Simple as that. Nothing personal.

Yet also it’s personal. He’s grown to hate Tommy. Feel angry whenever he sees him or thinks about him. It’s a self-destructive rage. It fuels him, yes, but in the process chars out any new green shoots of healing in him. He’s like a ghost bound to a single building, unable to grow or change or become a better person, or _move on._ So he’s going to tear Tommy apart brick by brick, and he’ll relish doing it. He will. He knows he will.

Who cares if Niki’s abandoned him? She was weak. She didn’t care about the cause so much, he knows because she gave up. That’s okay. He’d thought they were friends, and maybe they still can be. Her life will fall apart again, and she’ll come crawling back. And he’ll welcome her back, because that’s the kind of person _he,_ Jack Manifold, is. Not like Tommy, who hurts and alienates all the people who try and care about him. He is proud to say that he’s nothing like Tommy.

“You can help me take down Dream, Jack.” He nods solemnly. But when we get him, you can hurt him as much as you want, but I’m the one who gets to kill him.”

“Huh? You’re a sick bastard, Tommy.” He shakes his head. “I don’t give a shit about Dream, ‘slong as he _dies._ You’re the one I hate. You’re the one who’s wronged me. And hold _on_ one minute I’m not _helping_ you do anything. I’ve got my own plan to take out Dream, and then I’m going after you. That’s not just a threat, it’s a promise.”

Tommy gives a cocky “Hm,” and Jack’s vision fades from molten red to dizzying white. “Fine, we’ll both try to kill Dream _separately,_ but don’t be a little bitch about it when I get there first. I would have cut you in, too, just remember that I offered.”

He grumbles low in his throat. _Why is he putting himself through this?_ Tommy is so stuck up and annoying and he doesn’t listen. The whole point of this plan is to get him _out_ of Jack’s life. “Fuck you. I’m gonna kill you.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.” He spins around so that Tommy’s staring at his back. “Business calls. I need to work on my hotel.”

“It’s our hotel,” Tommy protests, “I mean I fucking founded it.”

“You died. I inherited it. So it’s mine now, legally. I possess it. You don’t just get it back because _somebody_ thought you were worth using a stupid resurrection book on.”

Tommy tugs at his retreating shirt, but ducks back before Jack can slap his clingy hand away. “Show me where it says that in my Will.”

“What, d’you even have a Will?”

“No, because I’m Tommy Innit. I never fucking die. I didn’t. Shut up. Don’t talk about it.”

  
Jack rubs at the migraine forming behind his brow. This kid has no redeeming qualities and it is _such_ a sweet relief that he’ll soon be dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like the start of a beautiful friendship.
> 
> I read and appreciate all comments <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotel banter and resurrection-story dick measuring contest:

Jack returns from a brief lunch break to find Tommy leaning behind the front desk of the Big Manifold Hotel, pulling handfuls of diamonds out of the cash register. He grabs the thief by his collar, ignoring the resulting yelp and flailing limbs. “What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing?”

“I-I’m collecting rent from the tenants.” Tommy brushes himself off and stands up straight.

“This is my hotel, not yours,” he explains through gritted teeth. “That is called stealing.”

“Oh, it’s still mine.” Tommy leans casually on the reception. “I said you could be in charge of running it for a while, and really, you’re doing a decent job. But you have to remember that I own the property.”

“So let me get this straight,” Jack’s eyes narrow, “You expect me to do all the hard work and  _ you  _ get to keep the money?”

“Okay, here, here. I’ll cut you in.” He takes a small handful of gems out of his pocket. “Thirty percent sound about right to you, pal?”

Oh, he wants to strangle this kid with his bare hands. “Fuck you, you piece-of-shit scammer. You are an infestation. You are like a rat that has chewed through all my cereal boxes.”

Tommy holds his hands out in front of his face. “...thirty-five if you stop yelling at me.”

He interlaces his fingers and swallows his frustration. No point fighting Tommy with his words when a permanent solution to the problem is within reach. “Done.”

Tommy hands him the entire pile of diamonds. “Count out your cut. Math is an underling job; I have more important things to do.”

Jack growls low in his throat. _Just for that, he’ll take every last diamond._ He sweeps the loot into his satchel and Tommy doesn’t even seem to care. He acts as if he’s above it all. Dying and coming back three days later does not make him Jesus. “I’m not going to treat you special because you got resurrected.”

The boy’s response is so quiet he almost can’t hear it. “...thank you.”

“Everyone thinks you’re a celebrity," he rants, "and they’re going to be grilling you for  _ special, secret  _ knowledge of the afterlife. I want you to know that I don’t give a shit.”

“That’s good, Jack. Because people have been looking at me like I’m a science experiment, and it makes me really uncomfortable.”

“You love attention.” His brow furrows in confusion. “You always have.”

“Not this kind.” A little shudder runs through Tommy’s whole body. “Makes me feel like a bug pinned under a microscope.”

“If you were a bug,” Jack promises, “I’d swat you.”

“I'd prefer that, actually," says Tommy with a nervous laugh.

Jack sighs heavily and wanders back across the hotel lobby, pressing himself into an alcove. Tommy’s piercing voice gets a little quieter as he folds in his earlobes. “There’s nothing I can learn about from  _ you  _ about Hell. I’ve been there too.”

“Yeah?” he pouts, “Well, I was there longer.”

“That’s nothing to be proud of. You needed Dream to bring you back to life. I’m better than you. I got out all by myself.”

“What? You can just do that?” Tommy lays his head in his palms. _“Two months_ of competitive solitaire, and you’re telling me I could have just walked away at any time?” He moans in devastation.

“You probably couldn’t,” Jack boasts. “I’m built different.” He frowns. “I actually like competitive solitaire.”

Tommy cocks his head. “You look like someone who would say that.”

He splutters, “what does  _ that  _ mean?” 

“I dunno, just, you’re Jack Manifold.” Tommy stares at his feet. His laces are still untied.

Jack points. “Don’t you know how to tie your shoes?”

“Of course I fucking know how.” He’s pink in the cheeks. “I’m doing this on purpose. I wouldn’t expect you to understand fashion.”

He shrugs. “When you inevitably trip and fall, I’ll laugh.”

“Don’t you do that anyway?”

_ Yeah, Tommy has a point.  _ So little makes Jack happy nowadays. Tommy has taken his home, his friends, and his peace of mind. Is it really that sick of him to partake in a little schadenfreude? Just to feel less empty inside?

_ *** _

“So, what’s the first step of our plan to take down Dream?” Tommy rubs his hands together with childish excitement. 

_ “You  _ don’t have a plan, same as usual.  _ I  _ am getting a job as a prison guard so I can see the prison blueprints, or even get a weapon into the cell.”

“Thank you for doing that part,” says Tommy, “No way Sam would hire me after I yelled at him.”  _ Also, he really doesn’t want to be back in Pandora’s Vault. Even as an employee, with keycards and armor and his sword, having obsidian over his head would render him helpless and trapped. He can’t afford to feel that way around Jack, who is just looking for a weak moment to make his strike. _

_ *** _

“Why’d you yell at Sam?” As far as Jack knows, that’s one of the few adults who continue to put up with Tommy’s shit. How exactly like this kid to alienate the only people who still care about him.

_ “He let me d--”  _ Tommy’s voice cuts off with a gulp. “He’s irresponsible and not qualified to be prison warden. He didn’t do enough to stop Dream from--, and he couldn’t keep me safe.”

Yeah, _ that  _ sounds like a fair judgment for Tommy to make, someone being irresponsible. Takes one to know one, perhaps. “I like Sam because I can trust him to do the right thing. He follows his own rules, and if you ask me, he’s the best at what he does. It’s not wrong of him to refuse to compromise the security of the prison on one person's demand.” Tommy’s face goes white. “Anyways, I need to get my hands on the prison schematics, and find some way to get through the manual search with a knife on me.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Jack.” Tommy smirks. “It’s a shame you’ll be too busy to run the Innit-Manifold Hotel. Don’t worry, I’ll take it back off your hands.”

Jack slams his palms on the counter. “Wait, why does your name go first?”

“Okay," Tommy laughs at him, "if it upsets you that much we can call it the Manifold-Innit Hotel.”

“It’s the Big Manifold Hotel! No Innit! Not yours!”

“Wow, that’s so cool that your whole scalp turns red when you’re angry. Every day I learn something new about bald people.”

Jack dips a little bit into his bottomless well of rage. The emotion is so potent that it literally carried him back from the dead. Revenge against Tommy is his sacred purpose. If he ever runs out of anger, he thinks his life force might just disintegrate. He should almost thank the kid for being so easy to hate. “Shouldn’t you be worried that I’m angry, as I’ve admitted I’m planning to kill you?”

“Oh, you don’t really want to do that.” Tommy’s pale eyes are wide and sincere. “You think so right now, but you don’t understand. See, I’m the best, and sooner or later, you’ll come around. You might think I’m annoying now but you’ll change your mind once you get to know me.”

But he already knows Tommy too well - isn’t that the whole problem? They were once so close that Jack actually felt  _ hurt  _ when he first changed. Dream’s an evil bastard, and he wants Tommy alive. Isn’t that proof enough that this boy is a force for chaos in this world? Jack will kill the God first and the child soon after. That way they can be together forever, free to play their cat-and-mouse game for as long as they want. And nobody else has to get hurt in the crossfire. If Tommy still refuses to take him seriously -- well, that’s alright: he’ll just feel twice as stupid when Jack ends him.

***

Jack’s wearing a trim suit (borrowed from Tubbo), and aviator sunglasses. The collar smells like gunpowder and char. He rewashed the shirt three times but the bitterness won’t leave. He plunks himself down in the prison foyer. “Mr. Sam, I need money.”

The warden pinches at his gas mask. “Call me Sam, no title. Why’re you dressed like this is a job interview?”

“Can it be?” Jack looks up with a careful, practiced expression of pleading. “Tommy kicked me out of my hotel. I’m broke, I have nowhere to go.”

He fixes Jack Manifold with a shadowed stare. “And you think I should hire you to work in Pandora’s Vault?”

“Well, yes. Yes I think you should. I’m  _ qualified,”  _ he points vaguely to his suit, but does not elaborate. “And, well, I assume you’re desperate for more guards after what just happened here…" he lowers his voice, "on your watch.”

Sam’s shoulders slump. His soul remains strong, but his confidence has been severely shaken.  _ Tommy cries and won’t make eye contact with him. Tommy prefers to hug the clunky form of an automaton over Sam's human touch. And Sam knows why. He swore to protect Tommy and he let him down, broke that trust. _ “Okay. I guess you can… you’re right. I need help. I’m in over my head.”

Jack smiles. “Don’t you worry about it, old friend.” He shakes Sam’s hand and resolves to do what the other man couldn’t: prevent Dream from hurting anyone ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually think I'm onto something. Time to Jack Mani-fest.
> 
> please leave comments please <3
> 
> Next Chapter: Tubbo!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo my beloved.

Tubbo sits alone at a meaningless memorial. His knees are tucked close together, pushed to his side of the bench. The frozen shore creaks like whalesong and the ice floe is refrigerator-cold through the soles of his snow boots. He listens to the arctic winds that keen across the face of a weather-ruined jukebox. There’s not a single disc he can play that doesn’t deepen the ache in his chest.

The marker looms over him, a wooden cross with rough angel’s wings. Tubbo built this statue only a few days ago, his heart still frigid with loss, his numb hands making the task difficult. Flowers stiffen with frost. He keeps Tommy’s memory on ice, to last for years, to never decay. Tommy always wanted everything to stay the same, and so Tubbo can’t move on. He’s seeing ghosts. He doesn’t sleep and his brain trudges along steps behind him. 

Tommy is back now. Yes, he is.  _ “Alive and well,” _ he'd claimed, as his lip trembled.

The grave is a humble garden, as tasteful as he can manage. It’s meant to make a visitor feel serene. Tubbo balls up his fists and cries hot tears that immediately solidify to pearls.

He’ll never let Tommy see this memorial. It would be inappropriate. He can’t tear it down either, as he built it out of love. Maybe he can be buried here himself, later or sooner. One life left: he’s only being realistic. He doesn’t want to die, but when’s that ever mattered? Sam has given him back the green bandanna as some kind of sick consolation prize. It used to be his and now it has brown stains.

Even bundled in his fluffy coat, he’s getting hypothermic. His lips are tinged purple, and snowflakes pinch like needles on his sensitive scar tissue. So he says goodbye to the Other Bench and turns back inside and runs hot water over his forearms until the blood in his fingers is no longer so slushy.

He hears a knock and answers his door immediately, rearranging his features into a somewhat apathetic smile.  _ Tommy.  _ Thin and gaunt with scabs around his hairline and red crusts under his fingernails. Eyes haunted and milky, pupils reduced to slits in the sudden sun. Tubbo can’t help but stare at him in wonder, like he’s some sort of rare and colorful bird. In return, Tommy won’t even meet his gaze. “Big man,” he says cautiously, “hey.”

Tommy nods in rote. “Hi, Tubbo.” He keeps looking down, his posture is sullen.. “Is Jack Manifold here? I need to speak to him.”

“Oh…” Disappointment wraps sour around his tongue. But Tommy obviously needs  _ something,  _ and Tubbo doesn’t know what else to do for him. “Yeah. I can bring you to his house.” It’s only a few steps up the cobblestone path. “Would you like me to leave and let you talk in private?”

“No.” He grabs Tubbo’s arm with startling force. “Stay, please. Stay.”

“Okay.” He calls out, “Jack?”

“What do you want?”

Tommy pushes forward, indignant. This is the kid who once punched Schlatt after the dictator had raised his voice at Tubbo in the middle of a treaty negotiation.  _ He’s really Tommy. He’s still Tommy.  _ “Don’t talk to him like that.” But that’s just the way Jack Manifold is: clipped, brusque. 

“Oh. It’s you.” 

Tommy’s grip tightens around his wrist; it now seems more fearful than protective. “So, you moved into Snowchester.”

“I’ve lived here a long time, actually.” He wrinkles his nose, as if offended. “Surprised you haven’t noticed. Tubbo’s my next door neighbor.”

“I don’t notice anything about you, Jack Manifold, on purpose.” His voice is hollow, and the joke fumbles. “But, uh, I’ll tell you one thing. If you, if you do anything to him--”

Jack scoffs. “If  _ I  _ do anything? Oh, that’s a hell of an accusation, coming from you especially.”

“What do you mean?”

Jack sighs. “Look, Tubbo’s never going to say this out loud, so I’ll tell you for him. You hurt him, and he feels angry.”

Tubbo bites at his lip. “It’s not your fault,” he tells Tommy softly, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He doesn’t want to assign blame, and that’s his choice to make. But the truth is--” Jack drives an accusing finger into Tommy’s sternum, “He hasn’t been the same since you dragged him along to fight for your fucking discs.”

Tommy’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “I didn’t drag him.”

“You might as well have done! That was your grudge, and he almost died.”

Tubbo feels far away. He mumbles, “we were saved.”

“He expected to die! He accepted death! He was  _ ready  _ to be  _ dead.  _ You’ve damaged him. He can’t come back from that!”

Tubbo doesn’t like to believe that his trauma is permanent. He’s moved over the world with a light touch. It isn’t right or fair that the monsters who never even saw him as a real challenger should get to leave him with lasting marks. Yet it’s true, what Jack says. Ever since Dream had promised to end his life, that life feels inconsequential. Thinking about the future feels like staring down the draw of a loaded crossbow and wondering if the fireworks show will have his favorite color.

“You have no right to lecture me on how to be a good friend!” Tommy’s let go of him and is gesturing with both hands, red in the face. “After you tried to kill me with a nuclear missile!”

Tubbo’s intestines freeze into a wet rope.  _ “What?” _

“Your nuke test, big man. He lured me into the blast zone, he fucking admitted to it.”

He can’t process this. He  _ shouldn’t.  _ He needs to speak clearly, without being dragged into an emotional undertow. “Jack Manifold, how do you think I would have felt if you’d succeeded and Tommy died?”

“Well, you’d have gotten over it, wouldn’t you?” His voice is hoarse; multicolored tears quiver behind his goggles. “I mean, Tommy  _ did  _ die, and you barely seemed to care--”

“Of course I cared!” he roars. It’s like an electrical surge of anger as the dam breaks: Jack is Schlatt and Wilbur and Technoblade and Dream _and Tommy,_ and Tubbo yells the way he’s never been able to before. “Just because I didn’t cry on your fucking shoulder, you think I wasn’t sad? Should I have fought a warlord in a pit? Executed the kid who spied on me? Lit up some TNT? Would that make you believe that I feel things, that I  _ care?” _ He shoves Jack into a corner. He feels powerful, he feels tall, he feels sick to his stomach.

“Well, sorry. That’s not who I am.” He lowers his arms, lets Jack skitter out of reach and suck in a breath. “Even if it might be easier. Snowchester is not a country--” he points out the window at the blue and yellow flag that hangs half-limp in the wind. “And I’m not a president. And yet, I think it’s time to make our first law.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be an anarchist?”

“I say whatever I have to say to stop a pig with a rocket launcher from blowing up my house.” His cheek twitches. “You’re a bit of a coward, aren’t you, Jack? Incompetent, too. Not to mention lazy.”

“And ugly,” Tommy adds in a whisper.

“You wait for someone else to usher in the nuclear age, then you co-opt my god-killer weapons to take out  _ one  _ single sixteen-year-old target. And you can’t even do it!” He giggles. “You _ still _ somehow fail! Did you  _ miss?” _

He grumbles, shuffles his feet. “Don’t like the way you’re laughing at me.”

Tommy says, “Be less funny, then.”

Tubbo clears his throat. “Acting for the first time in official capacity as the founder of Snowchester, I decree: Jack Manifold, get the fuck out of my commune.”

“Damn, are you  _ exiling  _ me?” Jack shoots Tommy a mean look. “This guy only has one move,” he mutters under his breath.

“If you leave quietly, I’ll let you keep your belongings.” He reaches out for Tommy, who is standing at an awkward distance, running his tongue over his lips. “This isn’t what we need right now, Jack. You’re not helping him.”

“I  _ am,  _ though! That’s the worst part!” Jack spits, and his saliva punches into the powdered ground like a bullet. “I’m helping Tommy take down Dream, even though I  _ fucking hate him!” _ His outburst dies off, and he stands with his arms by his side, panting heavily. “...I’ll pack my things now. Excuse me.” He sounds diminished

Tommy smiles. “Man, what is that guy’s problem?”

Tubbo leans into his friend’s bony side and scrunches his eyes closed. “I’m sorry. Come on. I really need to talk to you.”

***

Tommy sinks into an overstuffed armchair, the cushion swallowing him whole. It faces the crackling fireplace, and Tommy flinches as he stares into the grille. “Should I put the fire out?”

Tommy shrugs. “We’d get cold.”

“Not if we dress warm. One moment.” Tubbo leaves and returns with an armload of layers. He hands Tommy fleece-lined pants and a hooded parka and he pulls them both on over his regular clothes. Tubbo chokes off the flue until the blaze dies down to silent coals, and Tommy’s shoulders visibly relax. “Your new best friend is literally trying to kill you.”

“Well, maybe Ranboo’s secretly evil too. Did you ever think of that?” He juts out his jaw. “No, you didn’t. So when he comes after you with a fuckin' knife, _you_ won’t be prepared. At least I already know Jack is a bastard.”

Tubbo sighs. “I don’t understand why you’re -- I didn’t replace you!”

Tommy splutters. “You got married!”

“Ranboo is important to me. I care about  _ both  _ of you, so much. And, and, he was all I had left after you--”

_ “Don’t  _ you dare say that word.”

“What? My best friend  _ died,  _ and now I’m not even allowed to talk about it?”

“No!” Tommy shouts, “No, you’re not! Because every time you bring it up I feel like I’m  _ right back there _ and he’s  _ hitting me…  _ So we need to act like it never happened. You have to pretend that I’m still normal.” Under the hood of his coat, his eyes look so small and pleading. “I’m  _ here  _ now. Talk about that.”

“I’m _ so sorry.” _

“That still sounds like I’m dead. You’re making me feel dead.” Tommy picks at the sofa coverlet. “Is it true? Are you angry at me?”

_ “I --”  _ he starts, and you can’t speak ill of the dead, but _Tommy is_ _ right here. _ “Maybe a little.”

Tommy looks surprised, even a bit hurt, but he doesn’t lash out.

“It isn’t fair to you, but that’s how I feel.” To the extent that he feels anything. He’s still weirdly floaty and numb. “I’m all messed up.”

“You, you accepted death. I told you not to do that. I said you weren’t gonna die. I meant it.”

“I know. Still happened.” Tubbo pokes at the soft spot under his chin. The sword is still there, and every other touch since feels immaterial. “Might be my fault too. I didn’t want to be sad at the end, so I decided not to care. It worked, but since I lived, it wasn’t worth it.”

“How d’you just  _ decide  _ not to care?” Tommy runs so hot that he boils from the inside out.

“I dunno. It’s just something I’m able to do. Like how Jack Manifold can bring himself back to life. I’m the opposite because I make myself dead inside.” He laughs. Tommy doesn't.

“You know, I stood up to him.”

“To Dream?”

Tommy doesn’t echo the name, but he nods in confirmation. “He told me -- I was stuck in there with him for a whole week before he snapped. He was trying to make it like exile. He said that you hated me and he was my only friend. That I didn’t remember it right, that I was overreacting and I deserved everything he did to me.” Tommy grins. “But I didn’t fall for it this time, okay? I told him he was a liar, a sad little man, and I told him to go fuck himself.”

Tubbo cheers, “Yeah!”

“I even told him he was lying about the revive book - see, I thought it  _ was _ a lie.. Why the fuck would Schlatt even have that kind of power?”

“Maybe he would." Tubbo used to be Schlatt’s Right Hand Man, and though the president had never mentioned necromancy to him, he’d always gotten the sense that Schlatt was more than just an alcoholic old ram.

“He did it to prove a point.” Tommy’s shoulders are shaking beneath his heavy jacket. “He  _ beat me to death  _ to  _ prove a point.” _

“That’s sick.”

“I was  _ done  _ being scared of him. Once I saw through what he was doing to me, I was safe, but, but, I wasn’t safe. I’m still not. None of us are.  Even with Dream locked in the prison, _ you’re still not safe.” _ He tugs on his friend’s arm until Tubbo collapses onto the seat beside him. 

“A sofa is like a squashier bench.” 

Tommy’s face turns sickly green. He doesn’t speak any more. He doesn’t need to. Tubbo is content to simply be near him. He stares with dry eyes, spacing out his blinks. As though, if he looks away, Tommy will be gone. It’s happened before. And he knows if it happens again, he won’t be able to take it.

***

Pandora’s vault is the furthest possible aesthetic from that snowy village by the sea. Jack’s voice echoes through the high-ceilinged halls and is carried back to him with exaggerated tone, an argument for one man alone. “This place is creepy. Sam better pay high wages.”

The obsidian’s so dark that it’s fucking with his depth perception. He feels as though he’s floating, unbound by gravity, lost in a dark void. Space without stars. The familiarity makes him cringe. But this time he can’t simply walk out. To leave would be to give up, to fail, to look like a coward. So he studies the architecture with his eyes and hands, trying to see the prison as a work of art, ignoring the pang in his gut that tells him he’s crawled inside the belly of a slumbering beast. The quartz highlights make the place seem medical, antiseptic. The radiant heat of lava is hot against his skin, and the walls themselves sweat illusory purple droplets. Dream taunts him by speaking into the vents.

“Is this what you wanted?” The velvety croon seems to swell from everywhere at once. “You’ve locked yourself up for me. That’s  _ amazing.” _

He bites back expletives. “I’m free to leave.”

“But you won’t!”

“Then I must have a really good reason.”

Dream snorts. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“How could I?”

“No, no. That’s not it.” He hears the magnified clack of untrimmed nails scraping across volcanic stone. “I know what this is. You want my revival book. You want that power for yourself.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Tell me more.”

“But of course you do. You’ll do me a favor, and maybe then, I’ll let you read a few pages.” He hums. “I’m a God. You could be too.”

He coughs. “I’ll think about it.” Then he covers his mouth and laughs himself into silent hysterics. Jack Manifold is no amateur. He’s well past the point of needing written instructions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack-Dream Nemesis Arc
> 
> please leave comments please <33
> 
> Next Chapter: the boys kill God


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys kill God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 16th!!

Jack staggers outside after a long shift in the vault, the calls of Guardians still ringing in his ears. The light is already gone from the sky; the stars obscured by dense black mist. He gulps down fresh air as he crosses the path to the Big Manifold Hotel, windows warm, yellow, and inviting.

Too inviting, because they've attracted Tommy, who lurks in the lobby, his slushy shoes up on the front desk. Jack glowers at him. “You got me kicked out of my home.”

“I think there’s an extra penthouse suite that you can stay in.”

He slams his fist on the reception and Tommy flinches slightly. “This is your fault! Fuck you.”

“It’ll be okay, big man. I can come by every day to watch you and destroy your tools and blow up your armor in a pit. If you want to get the full experience.”

“That’s weirdly specific,” Jack frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened.” He shifts so that he’s sitting normally in the chair. “I’m just saying I think you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, of course I will. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Hey,” says Tommy, reaching into a drawer, “I have an idea to make us more money.” He perks up immediately after the change of subject. “You know how the Bee & Boo gives out complimentary hard candy?”

“...Yeah?”

“The Innit Hotel can do better. Look!” He plunks a fruit bowl on the table. It’s so laden with golden apples that one falls out and rolls onto the ground.

Jack scratches at his bristly hair. “Where did you get these?”

“Stole them from Technoblade,” he announces proudly.

“They’re _stolen?”_ He presses at his eye; the migraine is back. “After everything that happened last time, you really… You never fucking learn your lesson, do you?”

Tommy’s eyes flash with a fear so short-lived that Jack wonders if he’s imagined it. Because when the boy speaks, his voice throbs with twice the irritating bravado. “The only lesson I learned is that Dream is a little  _ bitch,  _ and that’s why we have to kill him.”

He picks the spilled apple up off the floor and rubs at its fresh bruise. “There’s just no hope for you, is there?”

Tommy’s cheeks turn white, his ears flush. “I think I’ve finally figured you out, Jack Manifold. You  _ want  _ someone to yell at you.” He smiles. “I get it. It’s...worse, somehow, when your enemies speak so softly. I sort of like when people are harsh with me. You’ve always been a dick, and that’s why I keep you around.”

“Wow,” he swallows, “That’s a -- that’s a thing to say.”

“I could tell you that Tubbo hates you now, or that he always hated you and he’s never going to let you come home. But, uh, that’s not true.” Tommy picks at the hairs on his arms. “So I don’t want to say it. He will forgive you. I know that.”

“Great.” Jack feels so fucking tired: dead on his feet. His eyes swim from staring at walls all day, and he’d never admit it, but he’s actually grateful to have a coworker at the hotel so he can turn in early. “You handle the night shift?”

“Cool.”

_ “Good-- _ see ya tomorrow, then.”

Tommy yawns and shines a golden apple on his shirt. “See you.”

Jack steps into the elevator, then stops and holds the door open. He flashes a small bronze key from his pocket, and Tommy’s eyes go wide. “Get some sleep, because in the morning? We’re doing this thing.” The doors slide closed. “I mean, guess you can come too,” Jack mutters under his breath, as the cable tugs him upwards.

***

Tommy trembles under his armor as Jack lets him back into the prison. “The Warden is busy. Don’t worry, he won’t show.”

“Oh, sure. I just --” he traces a blackstone column with his fingertip, “--don’t like it here.”

“Me neither. The guardian field makes me feel all woozy.” Jack activates a portal and they step forward into the airlock, decontaminated by a rush of heat. Tommy can feel his ears pop at the dimensional change, and after he passes through the gateway for a second time, they ache with pressure. “C’mere.” With the bronze key, Jack Manifold unlocks a small round porthole and leads him into a cubby tunnel. Tommy has to kink his neck to avoid scraping his head on the ceiling. He hyperventilates, each breath magnified by the airless passage. “I don’t have full clearance yet,” Jack admits, “Can’t open the main cell. Sam doesn’t trust me.”

“Well, should he?”

“I don’t know. I like to think I’m trustworthy.” The tunnel opens up into a cramped room. The black walls suck up all the splashlight from the bare fluorescents. “Welcome to my office.”

_ He spends his days here?  _ “Ah,” says Tommy, “No wonder you’re like this.”

He nods grimly. “It gets worse. Listen.” He turns around, leaning in so that his lips almost touch the obsidian. “Hey, prisoner!”

_ “...You’re back.”  _ Tommy jumps. The horrible hissing voice seems to emanate from all around him, but he can’t find a source.  _ “You missed me.”  _

“No, I work here. If I wasn’t getting paid, I would leave.”

_ “Sure, that could be true, in a way. But I’m right too, aren’t I? You like visiting me. Feeling as though you have  _ power  _ over me. You want power, don’t you?” _

Tommy’s head swivels about, glancing in all directions. “Where is he? How is he doing that?”

“In his cell, where he belongs. But check this out.” Jack digs his thumbnail into an almost invisible indent and a piece of the wall slides away, revealing a metal tube no wider than a pine casket. “Ventilation system. Leads everywhere in the prison, even the max-security cell.”

Tommy peers into the small opening. “Really?”

“Yeah, some people think Dream should get to breathe. You and I know better.”

Tommy brushes a mote of dust off the aluminum pipe. “So, what are we…”

“This is the only way in,” says Jack, pushing him so that he loses his balance. “Go on now. I’m coming after you.”

He rests his elbows on the shelf. “Wait, why do I have to go first?”

“That way,” Jack explains, as though talking to a small child, “If you get stuck, I’ll still be fine.”

“And I?”

“Will be stuck. Oh well.” He bounces from heel to toe. “Hurry up. This might take a while.”

“Have you done it before?”

Jack shakes his head. “I only just found it last night. Never would have noticed if it weren’t for Dream fucking talking at me  _ all the time.” _

Tommy laughs. “That guy loves the sound of his own voice.” He takes a deep breath and hooks his hands into the siding of the tube, pulling himself up and forwards. His armor-clad shoulders stop him at the entrance with a jazzy clang.

“We’ll have to take off our chestplates,” Jack concedes, “Too tight of a squeeze otherwise.”

Tommy’s hands automatically fly to the leather straps. But with the piece removed, he’s so vulnerable in his thin cotton shirt; he feels naked. He tries again, and this time, with his arms bent inwards, he’s able to crawl through the vent pipe on his knees and elbows. Rivets bite at his bare skin and he panics a little over each scratch.

“Faster,” says Jack Manifold behind him, nudging at his foot.

“I-I’m going as quick as I can. Shut up.” He drops to his stomach to ride out a sudden wave of nausea. “It’s okay. We have knives. He doesn’t.”

“Until he punches you and steals your weapon.”

“N-no. He won’t be able to do that.”

Bone-chilling laughter carries up through the tube. Tommy can almost feel the hot unwashed breath blow onto his face. He can certainly smell it.  _ “I hear you clanking around up there.” _

“Good sign,” says Jack to Tommy, “It means we’re getting closer.”

_ “You’re coming back. I’ve missed you. I knew you’d come back.”  _

Tommy goes rigid. He can’t seem to move his limbs, and all he feels from his body is a distant itch. The rattle of their progress stops.

_ “Don’t get shy now.” _

“Shut up or I’ll spit in your fucking potatoes tomorrow.” Jack gives Tommy’s leg a light nudge. “It’s fine, just keep moving. Let’s get this over with. I have better things to do.”

The crawl is interminable, and Tommy is terrified out of his mind, but eventually there’s orange lava-light at the end of the tunnel. In a desperate panic, he lunges forward and splashes headfirst into the pool of water at the corner of the cell. Jack lands on top of him a moment later. Dream observes the spluttering wet pair, but does not approach. He sits against the opposite wall, hands wrapped around his knees. His cracked mask has been glued back together and he wears it despite the missing slivers. He looks amused. He always does.It must be the smile.

“Uh, um...” Tommy picks himself up and brandishes his sword. “So, we’re here to kill you.”

“No, you’re not.” There’s laughter in his croon.

“Yes we are,” says Jack, “What do you mean?”

“Two of us and only one of you!”

“I don’t mean you  _ can’t  _ kill me,” Dream purrs, “I said you won’t. Jack Manifold,  _ Tommy,  _ for all your antics. Here you are now, you have me helpless, and you don’t want to actually do it.”

“You’re right.” The dagger shakes in Tommy’s hand. “I don’t  _ want  _ to. This is fucked. It’ll keep me up at night. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to think about you, and by extension,  _ I don’t want to kill you!”  _ He clutches his weapon tighter. “I will, though. Because it has to be done.”

“Think about this, Tommy.” Dream stretches out his legs, his posture relaxed and easy. “Imagine that Tubbo dies. You’re holding his lifeless corpse in your arms. And it hits you,  _ If only Dream were still alive,  _ you could bring  _ your Tubbo  _ back to life. But no, you’re Tommy, you can’t leave anything alone. You picked another fight, and now Tubbo is dead and it’s your fault--” he cuts off with a gasp of pain.

“Don’t threaten him.” Tommy twists the handle of the knife until it’s buried all the way to the wood in the false God’s chest. “He’s safe and he’s staying that way.”

Dream slumps forward as his muscles fail, his breathing labored, a thin stream of blood running down his chin.  _ “Are you sure?”  _ His porcelain mask drops off and shatters along its fault lines. His real face twitches and goes still. 

“We did it.” Jack’s expression is full of awe. Tommy vomits. There’s a whole human body strewn across his lap, something that only a final death leaves behind. It sits like molten lead on his soul, an undeniable heaviness. But the weight lifts. “Um,” he hears, “Wasn’t that supposed to be his final life?”

Tommy opens his eyes. There’s blood on the floor, and porcelain. “Wait.”

“Where did he go?” Jack’s eyes are manic technicolor behind his goggles. “Shit, _ did he… did we…?” _

He wipes bile off his lip. He’s so horrified he’s begun to drool. _“...we freed Dream.”_

Jack bellows and punches at the obsidian so hard his fingers crack. Tommy’s just glad the target is not his head. “I knew this would happen. I knew your plan would ruin it for everyone.”

“Could have told me ahead of time, then, if you can see the fucking future.”

“This is your fault!” Jack spits, “You’re the one who killed him!”

“Yeah? Well, you enabled me!”

“Oh, Sam is gonna kill us.” He paces the lockup. “Sam is contractually obligated to kill us.”

“You’re still worried about  _ Sam?” _

“In the immediate future? Yes. We gotta get out of here.” He drags Tommy up by the arm. “Back into the vents, hurry.”

They crawl for their lives. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.
> 
> please leave comments please
> 
> Next chapter: Actual Communication


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healthy communication. Not kidding.

Tommy leaps down from the boardwalk and fucks up his landing; his ankles crunch under him. He gives a stifled laugh and stares up at Jack Manifold with pride and wonder. “Did you see that?”

“You missed your water bucket…” Jack is baffled, “How is that supposed to impress me?”

“No, I mean, I took damage and I didn’t freak out!” He rubs his knees, his hands tremble. “I-I’m getting better.”

“Oh.” Jack pushes up his glasses; they’ve been sliding down his sweaty nose. “We freed Dream. He’s  _ out there  _ and it’s our -- it’s  _ your  _ fault.”

Tommy’s face twitches. “Should we, does Sam know he escaped? Maybe we should tell him?”

He puts his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Listen to me. If the warden finds out what we did, he  _ will  _ hunt us down. We have to  _ hide.” _

_ “I guess…”  _ Tommy shakes his head. “We have to get to Snowchester.”

“I’m not  _ allowed  _ in Snowchester,” Jack pouts. He kicks a rock with his toe.

“Yeah, and what do you think is going to happen if you go? Tubbo will kill you on sight? Stop being a pussy.” Tommy grabs his arm. “Oh my God, he’s going to hurt Tubbo.”

“Ya think?” There’s bitterness in Jack’s throat, but he swallows it like a shot. Dream is weakened, his supplies are gone, he’s malnourished from his incarceration. “We’re fine for now. We’ll make it.” He prays they will.  _ Tubbo deserves --  _ better than  _ this. _ “Tommy? Do you have some kind of deal with Dream?”

His lip curls in disgust. “He --  _ no, man.  _ Are you stupid?  _ He beat me to death.” _

“But he brought you back.” He jogs up to Tommy’s side. “Why would he do that? He’s evil. He wouldn’t, he would never give me back my friend.”

“I don’t know!” His cheeks are splotchy, like he’s about to cry. “He’s fucking crazy! There’s no point trying to understand the shit he does. He’s a bastard and he hit me until - he put me through  _ all that  _ for  _ no reason!” _ A single tear crawls down his jawline and he swats it away like an insect.

“Sure he’s got a reason!” Jack yells, “He has to have a reason! All of this makes  _ sense  _ to  _ him.  _ He - he  _ wants  _ you. He likes you! You’re just his fucking toy and he brought you back so he could  _ play _ with you. He’ll never stop! He’s having fun and it doesn’t matter how many innocent people get hurt as long as you can continue your  _ game.” _

“It’s not  _ my  _ game. I didn’t want to play!” He balls his hands into tight fists and itches to swing them, to start another painful fight that he’ll  _ lose. _ “I  _ need _ it to stop! I wanted closure! Dream makes me into a terrible person. I don’t like who I  _ am  _ around him!”

“I don’t like who you are now! Either!” He clears his throat. “I used to think you were my friend! You used to  _ be  _ my friend. But now that’s - that Tommy is  _ gone.  _ He’s dead and Dream wouldn’t bring him back. You’re just a mean, angry, paper shell, and you make me--” He brings up his hands like blades and Tommy flinches away, “I’m the bad guy now! I’m only  _ alive  _ because I’m angry. You make me want to hurt you!”

Tommy takes a few quick backward steps. “You need to be angry at someone. I get it.”  _ But there’s so much in the world to be mad about.  _ Technoblade shooting Tubbo with a rocket launcher. Tubbo forgiving him. Wilbur blowing up L’Manberg. Dream abandoning him in Logsteadshire. “Don’t you  _ dare  _ take it out on me!”

Jack spits. “What, are you scared of me?”

“You  _ wish  _ I was.” He lets out an exasperated shudder. “I’m not your enemy! How do you not see that, you  _ moron?” _

“You took everything from me!”

“I  _ gave  _ you a job! The hotel!” He points at the red building with its cookie-cutter levels. _ Tommy red. _ “We used to go on heists,  _ together,  _ and I would boss you around, and we would mug people, and I miss that, and  _ I just want us to be  _ friends _ again!” _

Jack opens his mouth to answer but sees something that makes his blood run cold. His teeth click shut as he tackles Tommy into a muddy ditch.

Tommy yelps. “Fuck was that for?”

_ “It’s Nook,”  _ he hisses,  _ “Get down!” _

“Sam Nook?” Tommy pokes his blond head up, scanning about for the friendly robot. “He’s nice, why did you--”

“It reports to Sam, the warden, who is going to hunt us down and  _ kill us  _ and  _ fire me!” _

Nook burbles softly. Security cameras glow red where its eyes should be. It’s probably transmitting a live feed. “We gotta take it out before we get caught.”

Tommy looks scandalized. “We are  _ not  _ hurting Sam Nook!”

“It’s an android! It can’t feel pain!”

“Maybe not, but look at his li’l raccoon face!”

Jack rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t kill a dog if it were biting you.”

“You would?”

“I don’t know,” he considers, “I guess so.” Nook reaches into its toolbelt and unholsters a nail gun. “Shit, this is bad, he’s armed.”

“No, that’s for construction work.” The android warbles to itself and drives two boards together with a load  _ bang. _ “Go! While he’s distracted.”

“Fine,” he mumbles, letting Tommy drag him away from the build site, “Enough dicking around. We have to get to Snowchester.” There’s a terrible anxiety building in his gut.  _ They have to hurry. They have to get there now. _

***

Ranboo meets them at the gate, his mismatched eyes luminous.  _ Tubbo’s new best friend _ stands with his long legs awkwardly close together, as though a gust or a shove could topple him. He points to Jack with a daintily gloved hand, and croaks, “you’re not supposed to be here.”

Tommy steps forward. “This doesn’t concern you.” He hates the way the enderboy looks at him with a mixture of pity and fear, like he’s something a cat left on a doorstep. “Is Tubbo okay?”

“...Yes?” His black-and-white brow furrows with concern. “Why wouldn’t he be?” 

_ As though Tubbo’s not in mortal danger every day, at least in his old friend’s estimation.  _ As if Tommy doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, remembering Tubbo semi-conscious, consumed by pain, swaddled in bandages. “He’s safe? You’re  _ sure  _ he’s okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, man, he’s upstairs right now, spending time with Michael. Please don’t worry.” He gestures to a shuttered window, and through the slats, Tommy can see a short silhouette. His posture relaxes. “Do you want to talk to him?”

“Actually, Ranboo, I want to talk to you.”

“To me? Oh boy.” He gulps and picks at a grayish freckle. “What do you want to--”

Tommy holds direct eye contact, ignoring the way it seems to make the half-enderman uncomfortable. “You care about Tubbo?”

“Yes.” He knows this for certain. It’s one of those facts that, like his own name, he doesn’t even need to write down in his memory book. It’s etched into every thought. “We even got married.”

“And you get that he needs to be safe? You’ll keep him safe?”

Ranboo nods. “I have all three lives left that I can use to protect him.”

His whole body shudders with relief. Tommy has spent his whole life defending Tubbo, and it’s not enough. He’s not enough. If this all goes wrong, maybe Ranboo can take over where he left off. But he needs to know what he’s fighting for. “Has Tubbo ever told you what happened to him at the festival? The first festival?”

Ranboo shakes his head.

Of course he didn’t. Tubbo never talks about getting hurt. He tries to forget about it. Tommy still can’t let it go. “Wilbur and I were exiled. We were living in a cave. I was a revolutionary and he was a terrorist. Tubbo was our spy. I brought -- I reached out for military aid…” He was the one who’d recruited Technoblade, and so the pain of the betrayal is half gult. “Tubbo was Schlatt’s right hand man. His favorite. He decorated the festival, he did all the work. He gave a speech, and then, um, Schlatt trapped him behind the podium.” Tommy takes a shaky breath. “I watched Technoblade kill my best friend.”

Ranboo feels faint.  _ Technoblade?  _ The piglin who cares about Ranboo, has opened his home to a refugee in need. “How could he--”

“With a rocket launcher. You’ve seen the scars.” He sighs. “He shot a lit firework into his face.”

_ He’s seen the scars.  _ Thick, waxy keloid scars that wrap around Tubbo’s cheeks and nose and eyelids and make him asymmetrical and interesting and beautiful. Skin that is so,  _ so  _ sensitive to the brush of a hand. “I didn’t know…” his voice is low and sticky. “He, oh god,  _ why?” _

“Because Tubbo was a traitor, and Schlatt was an evil fucking bastard, and Technoblade  _ was  _ and  _ is  _ a coward who does what powerful people tell him to do.”

_ “Oh,”  _ says Ranboo softly.  _ He’s left some pets on Techno’s property. Will his cats be safe, his parrots?  _ “I don’t understand. If that’s true, then why is Tubbo so civil to Technoblade? He let him visit Snowchester. Why isn’t he more angry?”

“I don’t know.” Tommy’s shoulder’s drop. “He feels like -- he can’t afford to be angry. Tubbo forgave him --  _ immediately.  _ As soon as he woke up, before we even took the dressing off his wounds. Technoblade was right there, and he wasn’t sorry for what he’d done, and Tubbo smiled at him, so fake, and said,  _ ‘It’s okay!’”  _ Tommy looks up at Ranboo, his cloudy eyes haunted and helpless.  _ “It’s not okay.” _

“I...wow. That’s...wow.” Ranboo hasn’t ever killed anyone before. Until today, he hasn’t wanted to. It’s still not a full  _ intention,  _ just a funny, protective feeling in his stomach.

A shiver runs through Tommy’s scrawny form and he stands up straighter, his gaze fixed on something far away. “Keep him safe for me.” He turns and stomps away.

“Of course I will. Where are y-- Tommy, what are  _ you  _ doing?”

“Finishing this.” He gives a curt nod to Jack Manifold, who’s been waiting for him at the border, leaning on the wooden wall. And that answers none of Ranboo’s questions, but he stays put anyway, curling and uncurling his hands. He’s been entrusted with something important and he’ll keep it close to his chest.

***

Ranboo blows into the attic, addressing Michael with a cursory pat before wrapping Tubbo in a tight but unexpected hug. His lanky husband is all bones and the creased edges of a freshly pressed suit. Tubbo smiles. “What?”

“I understand now,” he says softly, “why you didn’t punish me.”

“Why would I--?”

“You found my memory book. You knew I was working with Technoblade, I was a spy, I wasn’t on L’Manberg’s side. So I was scared… and then after Doomsday, I figured you’d just forgotten to kill me. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters…” Tubbo’s hands find his scar. “You’re staring.”

“I’m sorry, I just--”

“I thought you were used to it by now. I mean you’ve never known me without it.” He squeezes Ranboo’s hand. The charcoal-gray skin is pleasantly cold, and he can see that his friend is losing his words. He gives a soft chirp.

“Please don’t be scared of me.” He would never hurt Ranboo. Never hurt him. He’s not like Schlatt. He’d rather die than become such a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....foreshadowing
> 
> please leave comment please
> 
> Next Chapter: the boys (try to) kill God, again


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys fight God again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for mild blood, injury, violence, trauma flashbacks specifically in this chapter

Tommy trails Jack Manifold out onto the rain soaked beach, following deep footprints in the swollen sand. Jack frowns. “This is too easy.”

“He wants us to follow the path, I think.” Tommy swallows loudly. “He wants us to find him.”

The boot marks are firmly indented and close together, describing a confident stroll. “Why would he want that?”

“You said it yourself. He likes to play with me.”

“And we’re playing along.” Jack stubs out a print left close to the rising surf, the tread-furrows filled with bubbles. “We shouldn’t go where he’s telling us. Shouldn’t play his game.”

Tommy looks unbelievably gaunt and tired. Mist congeals on his head and plasters his darkened blond hair close to his scalp. “We’re already in it. If we quit now, that’s a forfeiture.” He sucks in a long and ragged breath. “I-I think I recognize this place. I know where he’s taking us.”

Jack blinks blinding droplets out of his eyelashes. All he sees is water and sand. “Care to elaborate?”

Tommy just shakes his stiff neck, as if that answers the question.

There’s a boat waiting for them just up the shoreline, a wide trough from its keel where it has been dragged. “Should we…?”

“You row,” says Tommy, “I’ll steer.”

“Why do I have to--” 

“Because I’m the one who knows the way.” His voice quavers with sad resignation, and so Jack lets him sit in the back near the rudder as he handles the slick wet paddles and pushes them off into the gray abyss. 

Soon there’s no more land visible. A blister is forming between his thumb and index. Tommy’s breaths become louder and more regular, like he’s holding them in his stomach. “Hey,” the boy jokes, “Are we there yet?”

“How the fuck would I know?”

Tommy dangles a hand in the water, his fingers leaving little whirlpools. “Do you still want to kill me?”

Jack doesn’t dare answer that question, won’t let himself think about it. His lives are torn and sewer-drowned and counterfeit, and without their gaudy gilding of anger, might prove worthless. Who is he if he’s not himself? He’ll wash away down the kitchen drain. “Until Dream’s dead, it’s not worth it. So one thing at a time, you prick. Don’t rush me.”

Tommy shrugs, smiles, swipes at the surface of the water and splashes Jack in the face.

“I’m already soaked. There’s no point.”

“You should let yourself have fun sometimes.”

An island is solidifying out of the fog ahead of them. The scenery is faintly familiar. “Wait, isn’t this where you were--”

“Just call it Logsteadshire. Please. That’s better.” Tommy’s face is turning green. _ Maybe he’s just seasick? _

“Can you keep it together?” He doesn’t snap; his tone is kind but urgent. “This could be a hard fight, and we need to have each other’s backs.”

Tommy closes his eyes and nods slowly. When he’s resettled himself, some more natural color has returned to his cheeks. “Yes. I have to -- I can do this.”

“Good.” The boat scrapes up against a pebbled bank with a rattle both passengers feel in their teeth. “Here we are.”

There’s a crude golem to greet them, a humanoid figure of stacked logs with a rotting jack-o-lantern for a head. “Ay,” says Jack, “You moved on fast.”

His lip twists faintly upward. “That’s Hotter Girl. She left me too, in the end.”

The gravel turns to grass and moss and muddy smears. The tent where Tommy once slept is a singed pile of canvas scrap, torn to pieces. “It’s all blown up.”

“Yeah. Not much to look at.”

“Never was.” The wooden shack is in bits too, more crater than structure. “Did you do this? When you left?”

“No.”

“I burnt my house,” Jack admits, “when you were dead. Ran right through the fire myself. Set every inch of the floor alight so nobody could put it out before I was done.”

“Why?”

He bites the inside of his mouth. “I’d lived there long enough.”

Galeforce winds are driving the rain sideways. He searches his surroundings. No sign of Dream, except for the wreckage the man leaves behind him. And there’s...a tower.  _ A pillar so tall he can’t see the top. _ “Tommy?” he points, “what’s that?” But Tommy is silent. “Did Dream put that there? For us? Does it mean something?”

“...Dream didn’t build the tower.” His voice is so small. “Not really. I did.”

What’s a -  _ what’s a tower like that for?  _ “Why?”

“He said...he said he wouldn’t be visiting every day anymore. And he made me think it was my fault.”

“Dream? You  _ wanted _ to see him?”

“...I wanted to see  _ anyone.” _

Jack scoffs.  _ “I  _ tried to visit you, and you dropped me into a pit of lava.”

Tommy looks at his feet. “You didn’t actually want to see me. If you did, you would have tried earlier. Or tried again. Or just given me another chance. But  _ he _ said that I didn’t have anymore chances...”

“Tommy, what was the tower for?”

“It doesn’t matter right now.” Tommy points at a green clad figure loitering beside a boulder. Dream’s sword is already unsheathed, and the tip drags in the dirt. “It’s time. We found him.”

***

All he has to do is fight. He knows how; he’s been fighting all his life. He’s never  _ quite  _ given up. Just one more battle. One more person to kill. To  _ kill --  _ he’s done it before, he can do it again. One more time. And then, hope it sticks. If it doesn’t -- well, he’s never thought that far ahead, and he won’t start now.

“Hello.” Dream addresses Tommy, staring directly into his eyes. No more mask. “Why would you come here?”

“To fight you. To kill you.” He wipes rainwater from his nose. “To be  _ finished  _ with you.”

“Just leave me alone, then.” Dream smiles as though it’s that simple. “Let me go.”

He wishes they could. “But we can’t. You swore you’d come back, for revenge. You told me you’d kill Tubbo.”

“And where is Tubbo now?” Dream purrs, “Was it a good idea to let him out of your sight?”

“He’s fine.” Tommy swallows hard. His adam’s apple clicks. “He’s with Ranboo; I trust him. He’s safe.”

Dream just laughs.

“N-n-no!” he stutters, “This ends here, you bastard! We’ll take you down, and I’ll find some way to make it  _ last.  _ Whatever sick evil thing you’re threatening to do, you’ll never get the chance.”

“Okay,” says the man, charging his crossbow. “If that’s what you really believe.”

“Fuck this,” Tommy growls, “Jack, let’s just fucking stab him.”

“On it.” Two against one, back to back, they begin.

Dream skitters away, moving with agility, maintaining his distance. He fires his bow and the whistle of the bolt fills Tommy with cold terror. A single well-aimed shot could slip between the plates of his armor and puncture a vital organ. He fears death so much more, now that he knows exactly what’s waiting for him on the other side.  _ Still, he fights. _

Tommy rolls forward, slashing with his sword and carving a shallow gash into his enemy’s forehead. Dream shoots Tommy point-blank, the arrow traveling with enough force to pierce his chestplate and embed into his side. It hurts, it  _ hurts,  _ and he’s not as brave as he used to be. But his blood courses with so much adrenaline that the pain seems to belong to someone else. So Tommy fights on, and Jack steps forward and lands a blow and both teens cheer.

Dream switches from his bow to his axe as he goes on the offensive, dealing a two-handed strike over Tommy’s heart. His tough armor stops the blade, but all the air goes out of his lungs at the blunt trauma. He sees spots, feels a black bruise forming on his sternum. “Hey, why are you targeting him?” Jack demands, pushing Dream backwards a few yards, “He’s not special.”

Tommy gasps, his spongy lungs crackling like crushed styrofoam. He throws his body back into the deadly confrontation, not allowing himself to feel fear. He cuts and scrapes and dodges and stabs, and to his utter delight, Dream sheathes his weapon.

Then curls his bare hand into a fist. Punches Tommy in the face, and everything crumbles.

_ He’s back, he’s right back there in the prison on the floor on the ground.  _ An electrical shock runs through his spine and  _ Dream is hitting him, again and again  _ and he’s begging for mercy  _ but the hand is all bone and the obsidian is sharp and unforgiving...there’s wetness in his hair, metal in his mouth, cold excruciating pain that radiates down his neck and into his jaw. Blow after blow; he’s crying out, he’s crying, Dream yanks him up by a fistful of blond and slams him into the stone, he feels  _ everything,  _ feels his cranium shatter like a dropped plate and there’s no relief even as the world goes dark and his brain fills with static-- _

He feels a hand on his shoulder. A touch that is warm and gentle, so different from the way Dream beats him. “Tommy, run.”

His eyes are closed: he’s wrapped in a comforting ball and he doesn’t want to open his lids, to look. “Jack?”

“I’ve got this. You can go.” He presses a pearl into Tommy’s hand. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not? I’ll be back.” Jack Manifold stands silhouetted in the storm, goggles askew, sword drawn, his face twisted in unspeakable rage.

***

_ Something is wrong with Ranboo. _ Tubbo loves his friend’s deep, worried voice, and equally adores his feral whoops and chirps, but now his friend stands before him in sickening silence, seeing but not seeing, his multichrome eyes backlit. 

“Are you okay?”

He’s holding the Axe of Ender. His movements are jerky and deliberate. He opens his wide lips but no sound comes out as he takes one step towards Tubbo across the spruce floor.

Tubbo nervously brushes back his hair. “What are you doing?” His voice is small, but there’s laughter in his words. “Ranboo? Talk to me. What’s wrong? Are you…?”

His long fingers twitch against the axe. Tears pour down his face and fizzle on his powdery skin. “Oh.” Tubbo crosses his arms. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just not.” Ranboo’s multicolored cheeks bubble up with vinegar foam. “I’m sorry about this. I’m sorry. It’s okay. I won’t -- I _can’t,_ Ranboo, I’m not willing to fight you.” He can see how hard his friend is fighting against... _his instincts?_ No, this doesn’t look natural. “This is my choice.”

Ranboo raises the axe, and involuntarily Tubbo cringes. He’s decided not to care about his life anymore, but his body is still weak, still fears injury and pain. “Don’t --  _ don’t…”  _ He’s cornered, his back pushed up against the wall of the cottage he built to  _ live  _ in. “If you can hear me… if you’re still in there, please don’t. But I won’t hurt you. I won’t fight back. That’s not what I want to do.”

He covers his face with his hands and speaks quickly, his voice rising in pitch. “You’re confused right now, you don’t know where you are. Who I am. Don’t be scared of me. I’m not a threat, Ranboo: I’m Tubbo, I’m your friend. Please listen to me. Please come back to me.”

Ranboo’s head shakes. The puppet smiles. Tubbo squeezes his eyes shut too tightly for tears as the weapon begins its downward arc, and he waits for a blow that never comes.

There’s a faint cracking sound, like ice cubes settling in a glass, and Ranboo goes limp. He topples and Tubbo goes down with him, kneeling beside his splayed body. He pinches at a charcoal-gray limb, searching desperately for a pulse. _“Ranboo!”_ _Please. Please. Oh God please no wake up wake up please be okay please._ Tubbo can’t bear to lose another person, not after everything he’s sacrificed to protect him.

_ A heartbeat. A little ticking clock in his veins, so subtle.  _ And then Ranboo takes a breath, a single shuddering breath, and Tubbo buries his face in his friend’s chest and sobs drily in relief. He pats Ranboo’s face dry with his flannel sleeve, mindful of the sensitive pink rash left behind as damage. “You’re-o-kay. Y-you’re right here, you’re safe, I won’t hurt you.” The enderboy chirps softly in his sleep, and Tubbo holds his head off the hardwood floor and pets his hair.

The door’s kicked open, and Tommy stomps inside. He shakes his wet fringe, splattering Tubbo’s fragile friend with rain. Tommy’s face is pale and the snapped shaft of a bolt protrudes from his gut, but he’s steady on his feet; there’s not too much blood. He wraps his friends in a tackle-hug, his eyes wild, so obviously out of it that he doesn’t even wince when the arrowhead shifts. Tubbo laughs, “What happened?”

The triumph slides off his face. “I think Jack Manifold is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like that's ever stopped him before.
> 
> I read and appreciate all comments!
> 
> Next Chapter: The finale


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Manifold drags God down to his level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on a plane :D

Dream fights without passion. His swings are slow, his moves predictable, his face completely emotionless. It’s creepy. And even so, Jack; slight, wiry, Jack Manifold, is outclassed. His opponent towers over him and rains down blows with indiscriminate cruelty. Jack huffs and pants and stabs and accepts hit after hit, exerting himself through the painful dance with no proper partner.

He takes a slit out of Jack’s ear and laughs as he does it.  _ “Oh, Tommy…” _

Jack freezes, blood trickling down his lobe.  _ Dream doesn’t --  _ wait, _ he doesn’t even know who he’s fighting.  _ “You’re fucking delusional,” he spits, “But I knew that already.” An axe-swipe misses over his head. Weird. Helpful.  _ Insulting.  _ He continues hacking at Dream’s chestplate, trying to break through that hard shell to get at the meat underneath. Meanwhile Dream beats him around, throwing him into tree trunks and punching his guts so hard that he doubles over. 

“You really think,” Dream croons, “that you can win this battle?”

No.  _ He doesn’t.  _ He isn’t bulky or brutish, clever or wealthy or popular or loved or bolstered by ideology. All he has is his anger.  _ Could that be enough? _ No, he can’t win  _ this _ battle. So what if he fights a different one?

Dream has not broken a sweat, but Jack is already beginning to tire, his unpracticed form turning sloppy. He grunts for air and retreats in slow steps, allowing Dream to drive him back down the footpath. “Nowhere to run!” the man calls gleefully.

“Sure, fucker,” Jack mutters under his breath, “you’ll see.” He stumbles blindly toward the beach, only stopping when he trips against obsidian. He positions himself in the portal frame. “Bye, Dream.”

The cloaked man sneers at his dimension-hopping. “You think you can get away from me that easily?”

He coughs on the purple smoke. “Come follow me, then.” A moment later, the warped dizziness passes through them like a shiver and both men are standing on a dusty red bank, the undersides of their faces glowing fiery orange.

“Don’t see how this helps you,” Dream taunts.

“Doesn’t help you either,” answers Jack, “and that’s good enough for me.” Without warning, he leaps forward, landing on Dream’s chest. He hangs on like a limpet as the other man stumbles, trying to right himself, pinches and bites and kicks. Dream curses and steps backward, too close to the eroding cliffside, and then there’s nothing under them but soupy hot lava and thin air. “No potions,” he hisses as they tumble, slapping Dream’s hands away from his pockets.

Jack Manifold is one of the few people who know what it feels like to burn. Just seconds of pure, unmatched agony as blood boils, muscles cook, brain melts, bones split lengthwise as the marrow expands. He grits his teeth, but the man who’s stylized himself as a God, who’s unfamiliar with this kind of pain, screams all the way to the bottom of the lake, and the molten stone pours into his mouth.

Jack sinks all the way back to hell, but this time, when he reaches that invisible plane, he lands on his feet. He stands tall, though he feels no more corporeal than a pile of sand. Dream crashes down half a moment later beside him, a heap of disorganized limbs. He whimpers, and Jack nudges him in the rib. “Loser.”

“Great.” Dream blinks a few times, and his eyes stop watering. “Now look what you’ve done.”

He’s proud, actually. He waits for Dream to stand back up, and then punches him in the face. He falls again, his knees still wobbly. “You know,” says Jack bluntly, “We don’t have our armor here. Not our axes or our swords.”

“True,” he concedes, and makes a fist.

“We don’t have our bodies, either. Our muscles or height or honed reflexes.”

“Guess not.” Dream smiles again. “Neither one of us do.” Jack steps on his chest, grinding him into the glassy black floor with the heel of his boot. “Stop. Stop fighting. Don’t you know it’s over? This is just pathetic.

“It’s not over.” Jack kneels to loom more closely over the prone body. “It’s just starting, and it’s already going exactly to plan.” He grins. “You know what makes a person powerful here, in the void? What I have that you don’t?”

Dream rolls his hooded eyes. “Have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Spite. I am  _ filled  _ with spite.” Here in limbo, a soul is made of willpower. Jack cares  _ so fucking much,  _ and Dream is detached on purpose. He decided to be a God and immediately forgot how to be a Real Man. And now he’s dead. They’re both dead. “Do you know how much stronger I am than you, here?”

Dream gapes at him with poorly contained terror, and they hear a faint wet cough. A few hundred meters away, a mutton-chopped body is stirring in his light coma. Schlatt is the laziest, most ineffective bastard Jack has ever known, and he lies semiconscious, vomit dried on his lower lip.  _ Useless.  _

_ Be worse. Go deeper. _

“I need to find a way to keep you here.” He stomps down, hard, and spiderweb cracks appear on the black glass. 

Dream’s eyes widen. Softly he whispers “don’t.”

Jack strikes again. The crevasses deepen and the void itself groans like a glacier calving.

“Don’t do this to yourself. You’re right, it’s not too late. I’ll bring you back.”

He scoffs. “I don’t need you.”

“It’s not supposed to break! It’s really important that you don’t--” and he stomps again and the floor shatters like a wine bottle. Jack clings to the jagged edge, splinters impaling his palms. Dream loses his grip and bounces down into the abyss, a pearl off a string.

Jack tried so hard. But the vaccuum is sucking at his feet and he’s  _ tired. _

And pissed. Really he’s fucking  _ pissed.  _ He’s not supposed to die this way, so painfully, at the hands of a murderer who doesn’t even know his name. He can no longer bring himself to hate Tommy, but Jack’s still his own man. He had his own life. He deserves his  _ own _ death, not a secondhand. He pictures a kitschy funeral without a body, and refuses to become a side note in some other kid’s story.

Dream took  _ everything  _ from him, and this is cold comfort, poor closure. He’s furious with himself for not realizing who his real enemy was until it was too late.  _ Please, God. I’m not done.  _ He braids his hatred into a rope, and with slivered hands, attempts to climb upwards.

***

Tommy pats at the enderman’s stony face. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, his pulse is back to normal, and he’s breathing.”

“What  _ happened  _ here?” He touches Tubbo’s shoulder, as though not sure if his friend is real. “Dream said some things to me -- I mean, he implied…”

“We’re all good,” says Tubbo with a sad smile, “Look, you have to remember that it wasn’t Ranboo’s fault. I’m still confused, I d-don’t quite get it, but please you can’t get angry at him.”

He looks unsatisfied with that explanation; his lip curls. “I’ll ask him when he wakes up. When he’s talking normally again, I mean.”

“Tommy--”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll be polite.” He nods at himself. “I know he’s your friend. And he’s my friend, too.” The boy groans and stretches out his legs. “Fuck is keeping Jack Manifold?”

“I thought you said he died!”

“...point still stands.”

Tubbo shakes his head ruefully. “And they all made fun of  _ me  _ for being in denial.” _ Whatever.  _ “While we’re waiting for Jack to crawl out of hell for a second time, you need medical attention. 

Tommy prods gingerly at the arrowshaft sticking out of his bloodied shirt. “I’ve had much worse.”

“Yeah, I know.” He prepares a potion-soaked dressing. “Okay. When I pull it out, do you want to look?”

Tommy’s silent for a moment.  _ “No,”  _ he whispers, almost too quiet to hear, “but can you warn me, before you do it?”

“Of course, big man.” He waits while his friend takes several steadying breaths. “Here.” He slides the barb out of the wound. Tommy shrieks in air through his teeth. “You’re fine,” he says simply, blocking the trickle of blood with a cloth bandage. “You’re fine, you’re safe. Done.”

Ever since he died, Tommy’s body has felt like one big bruise: unbearably sensitive to all forms of contact. But now, though what Tubbo does for him hurts, his manner is so considerate that Tommy’s starting to believe he is safe, even if the everpresent hollow in his gut tells him otherwise. “That’s called anxiety,” Tubbo reminds him, “Everyone gets it sometimes.”

“You do too?”

“Well, yeah.”

Ranboo’s eyes pop open, red and green. He twitches like a dreaming dog before realizing where he is and settling back into Tubbo’s lap. He chirps.

“I can never understand what he’s saying,” Tommy complains, “when he gets like  _ that.”  _

“Me neither. But that’s no reason to be a dick.” He smiles fondly. “He’s still  _ Ranboo.” _

Tommy’s face splits into a toothy grin, “We, we did it. We got rid of Dream. We finished everything we had to do.” His pale eyes sparkle. “We could run away.”

“We don’t have to,” adds Tubbo, “We have everything we need; right here.” Tommy’s discs, Tubbo’s and Ranboo’s piglin son, a safe home, each other… 

… and Jack Manifold, haggard as a corpse, knocking on the window.

“Hey!” says Tommy, letting him in the front door, “I knew you could do it!”

Jack shudders with exhaustion, leaning heavily on Tommy’s shoulder. “It was even easier the second time,” he slurs, sinking into an armchair.

“Seriously. Not bad.”

“Where did you go?” asks Tubbo breathlessly, “What did you do, what was it like?”

Jack blinks. 

“Sorry… just, I’m curious, and Tommy doesn’t want to talk about it-- won’t tell me.”

“Well, it was really dark…” Jack teases, and breaks off laughing. “Nah, I’ll tell you later, I promise. But for now, I, Jesus, I could sleep for a week.”

“No,” says Tommy, “You can sleep when you’re dead. But you can’t miss the grand opening.”

_ “Of?”  _

“The Big Innit!”

“You mean the Manifold.”

“The Innit-Manifold,” Tommy compromises, biting his lip.

“Too clunky.”

He raises his eyebrows in revelation. “The Been-To-Hell Hotel!”

“Eh, maybe as a tagline.”

Tommy nods sincerely. “Okay. I’ll let Sam know that the party is still on and he can -- Oh, fuck.” His face drops. “Sam’s gonna kill us.”

“I hope not,” Jack whines, “Getting real tired of dying.”

“We’ll explain it to him. He’ll see that we’re in the right.”

“Hm,” goes Tubbo, doubtful.

***

Tommy and Jack can’t agree on who gets to cut the ribbon, so they each grab one end and pull until the fabric rips. “Good enough,” mumbles Tommy, “Open for business!”

“What  _ is  _ this?” Jack pokes in disgust at a gummy ball of streamers and tape. 

“Decorations,” Tommy defends, “And I say it looks nice.” He drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I asked Tubbo to help, and he said it would be bad luck, y’know, with his history. But he’s not superstitious, so I think it was just an excuse to loaf around.”

“It’s our hotel, not his,” Jack points out, “He’s not obligated to work for us.”

“I guess you’re right,” says Tommy, with dolorous disappointment. “We’ll have to show him how a real business is run.”

“We have to talk to Sam, actually. Do  _ not  _ leave me alone with that scary stuck-up bastard. Oh, hi Sam.”

“Jack,” he exhales, “Tommy.” His face is unreadable behind the copper-rimmed gas mask. He sounds disappointed.

“You should be thanking us!” says Jack, going on the offensive. Sam taps the handle of his trident. “Okay, so I fucked up, but I  _ fixed  _ the problem that I caused. The prison’s security doesn’t matter now that I killed the only prisoner and made the whole building obsolete. If you ask me, I deserve a raise.”

The warden lifts his goggles, his black eyes are wet underneath.

Tommy jumps in. “Look, Sam, think about it this way, okay? To put it simply, you’re a pussy. Yeah. We’re good, right?”

“Tommy. Jack…” he sighs, “We have rules for a reason....you can’t…”

“Look, Ranboo” Tubbo points, smacking on an apple, “Internal conflict.”

The enderboy bobbles his head. “We are going to make so much money.”

Sam presses at a new crease in his forehead. “...I’m just so glad you’re safe.”

“Yeah,” Tommy mutters under his breath, “Now we’re  _ actually  _ safe.”

  
He pours a strength potion and his friends clink glasses.  _ A toast to the Hotel, to the Bee & Boo. To Michael growing up happy and healthy, to tower over his fathers. To righteous anger, to Snowchester, to forgiveness without apology. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noooo accidental fluff oh god my brand
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed and I hope to see you in my next project.

**Author's Note:**

> [ SnowchesterApologist](https://snowchesterapologist.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr - Come say hi! 🧡
> 
> Hey Manifans, while I have your attention, somebody should make a Jack Manifold Animatic to "I can't decide" by the Scissor Sisters.
> 
> We have fanart for Tubbo in Chapter 3!! Please show this artist some love:
> 
>   
>  [by Yourdailycurse on tumblr](https://yourdailycurse.tumblr.com/post/645839568683352064/%F0%9D%98%BE%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A3%F0%9D%99%98%F0%9D%99%9E%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A7-%F0%9D%99%A7%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%97%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%9C%F0%9D%99%9E%F0%9D%99%A3%F0%9D%99%9C-%F0%9D%99%96%F0%9D%99%A3%F0%9D%99%99-%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%AA%F0%9D%99%97%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%98%F0%9D%99%A7%F0%9D%99%9E%F0%9D%99%97%F0%9D%99%9E%F0%9D%99%A3%F0%9D%99%9C-%F0%9D%99%81%F0%9D%99%96%F0%9D%99%A3%F0%9D%99%96%F0%9D%99%A7%F0%9D%99%A9-%F0%9D%99%9B%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A7)   
> 


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